Harry Greb, world's middleweight champion, is known as "The Pittsburgh Windmill." Against him in the Detroit Arena tilted a young Quixote, one Sage. Bravely the youth attacked. Idly, effortlessly, swung the arms of Greb, click-clack, like flails that spin in the wind. Sage, well-schooled in the naked tourney of this latterday, postured, lunged, but when he set himself to avoid one swinging flail, another descended unseen, caught him unchivalrous buffets. For twelve rounds, though out-pointed in every one, he kept returning to the hopeless encounter.
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